by Allen Drury
“I do not make any defense, Mr. President, of certain unhappy things in the United States of America. God knows any man of color who visits New York is aware that they exist. But, Mr. President, I do pay tribute to the sincere attempts of the United States to work out this problem, and to do it peaceably and constructively within her own borders.
“Within her own borders—that is it, Mr. President. Ask yourselves: Where would you like the United Nations to investigate next? In your country? Where does it stop, Mr. President?
“Mr. President, the issue of independence for Gorotoland is clear-cut. On that my delegation stands with our brothers of Africa. But do not confuse it, I beg you, with internal affairs of the United States which are no concern of this honorable Assembly.”
The President rapped his gavel to silence the mixed boos and applause that followed, announced the distinguished delegate of Guinea, and once again two Africans met in mid-aisle and ignored one another as the lithe young delegate from Guinea strode to the podium.
“Mr. President,” he said slowly, also in French, “the distinguished delegate of Cameroun, as usual, is very much of an expert on emotional appeals. He shows us how it is done, Mr. President, and no doubt we are the better instructed for it.
“But, Mr. President my delegation does not feel that these emotional appeals of the delegate of Cameroun are sufficient to meet the grave issue now before this house. A grave insult has been given a great African by the United States of America; and, Mr. President, do not let us hide the sequence of events. The insult was tendered first by the President of the United States. Only then, following his lead, was it tendered by the people of the United States, those miserable people in South Carolina.
“They have insulted all of us of colored blood, Mr. President. That is the issue here. For too long this hypocritical pretense has been allowed to go on, here under the very nose of the United Nations. It is not just what happened in South Carolina. It is a long miserable record of discrimination, cruelty, unfairness, unkindness. I ask you, my fellow delegates: Which of you whose skin is not white is free to go anywhere he pleases in the United States? Which of you who is not white feels himself treated with full equality as a human being in the United States? Not one, Mr. President! Not one! Mr. President, the delegation of Guinea joins Ghana in urging you to vote against adjourning debate on this item. History is watching us, Mr. President! We must act!”
There was loud approval as he strode down from the rostrum and back up the aisle to his seat, and as it began to subside there was a new stirring of interest and turning of heads as a commotion broke out around the American delegation. “There’s Knox,” the London Observer said with some excitement. “Now things ought to start moving.” “Moving where?” the Daily Express asked scornfully. “They’re up against a blank wall. They’re not going anywhere.”
And so, indeed, it seemed to the Secretary at first glance as Senator Fry and Senator Smith and the other delegation members rapidly filled him in on what had occurred prior to his arrival. “Possibly I took the wrong tack, Orrin,” Hal began, “but I thought—” “Absolutely right,” the Secretary said. “The least we could do is try it out. And maybe the vote will go all right this time.”
This hope, however, proved empty. The President, announcing that, Rule 76 having been complied with, it was now in order to vote, reached into his little box, drew a name, and announced that vote on the motion to adjourn debate would begin with Ceylon.
“No.”
“Chad.”
“Oui.”
“Chile.”
“Abstención.”
“China.”
“Yes.”
“Colombia.”
“Abstención.”
“Congo Brazzaville.”
“Oui.”
“Congo Leopoldville.”
“Non.”
“Costa Rica.”
“No.”
“Cuba.”
“No.”
“Cyprus.”
“No.”
“Czechoslovakia.”
“No.”
“Dahomey.”
“Non.”
“Denmark.”
“Yes.”
“On the motion to adjourn debate on this item,” the President announced in due course, “the motion is 47 Yes, 50 No, 17 abstentions, others absent, and the motion is defeated.”
“Mr. President!” Orrin Knox shouted from his chair in the U.S. delegation, and a buzz of excitement spread over the chamber. “Mr. President!”
“The distinguished delegate of the United States, Secretary Knox,” the President said, and the Secretary moved forward purposefully to the rostrum, bowed to the President, and turned to the Assembly.
“Be good, Orrin boy,” Lafe Smith said, half aloud, and Hal Fry said, “He will be.”
In the oratorical manner he had perfected long ago in the Senate, the Secretary of State stared out impassively upon the vast chamber, now silent awaiting his words. Then he began in a level, deliberate tone.
“Mr. President, we are witnessing here today an attempt to make the private business of the United States the public business of the United Nations.”
There was a little resentful stir, but he went on calmly to take them by surprise with his next remark.
“In some respects, this may be justified.
“It is true that an unfortunate incident occurred in South Carolina. It is true that the President of the United States did not leap at once to entertain one who is not the head of an independent state.
“It is also true, Mr. President, that the President was acting entirely within the bounds of standard diplomatic procedure. It is also true that the problems of South Carolina would not have become the problem of the M’Bulu of Mbuele had His Royal Highness not seen fit to involve himself deliberately in them.
“No one asked him to intervene in the internal affairs of the United States or the sovereign state of South Carolina, Mr. President. We have not presumed to interfere with the way he treats his colored people. Why should he interfere with us?”
“He isn’t the United States!” someone shouted from somewhere in the gallery, and the President hastily rapped for order. The guards once more shifted nervously at their stations.
“No, indeed,” the Secretary said sardonically. “No, indeed he is not the United States. And I will grant you,” he said, more solemnly, “there does rest upon the United States an obligation, springing both from our history going back to the American Revolution and from the restraints that world responsibility should place upon those of us who have it, a duty to maintain for herself a standard of conduct worthy of her, irrespective of what others may do.
“I do not pretend, Mr. President, that the United States, in the sequence of events of the past three days, has been entirely blameless or has lived up entirely to that personal standard which the President and the overwhelming majority of Americans desire to maintain. But we try, Mr. President; we are trying to improve the situation, to bring the Negro to full citizenship, to extend to all Americans everywhere regardless of color the blessings conferred by our Revolution.
“Against that background, I must respectfully say to this honorable house that agitating the matter here can only inflame the situation within our borders.” (On the floor the Ambassador of South Africa caught, with a wink, the eye of the Ambassador of Portugal, who smiled without amusement and nodded.)
“Mr. President, none of this means, of course, that I would wish to detract from or decry the personal bravery of His Royal Highness in doing what he did. But there are two kinds of bravery, Mr. President. There is the bravery of the dramatic gesture, isolated in time and carrying with it no responsibility to stay around and help take care of the consequences; and there is the bravery of those who must live with the problem from day to day and somehow, God willing, eventually work it out in a way that will be fair and just to all. His Highness has had his little moment, Mr. President, and I would not try t
o say that it was not a brave moment, for it was. But the United States of America and her people must, in this area, deal not with moments but with years; and that requires of us, over the long haul, a much greater bravery than that of one who dips in and out of the situation for whatever it may be worth to him in temporary headlines.
“Mr. President, we have made formal apologies to the M’Bulu. He does not seem to be happy with them, but that represents a lack of restraint on his part, Mr. President. It does not represent a lack of grace on ours.
“Mr. President, I move to adjourn the meeting.”
At once there was a surge of exclamation and protest from some delegations, scattered applause from others, a little dutiful desk-banging by the Communists, a flurry in the press and public galleries. The Secretary’s motion, if approved, would have the effect of terminating further consideration of both the amendment and the original resolution on Gorotoland. It was not subject to debate, but it was immediately obvious that, in typical United Nations fashion, the outcome was not going to be the open-and-shut conclusion he proposed.
Indeed he knew, and his Senate colleagues suspected as much, that he did not really intend it to be. With the instinct of an experienced parliamentarian, he had sensed that a change was under way in the assemblage before him. Restraint was not always a United Nations characteristic when one of the great powers of the West was on the run, but the emotional impact of the M’Bulu’s speech was fading, second thoughts were beginning to intrude, self-interest, that great modifier of ideals and passions, was beginning to operate. The United States still provided two-thirds of the UN budget; at least two-thirds of the organization’s members were still dependent, in one way or another, upon United States friendship and financial assistance. The mood might return to vengeance in enough delegations to swing the final vote, but there was a sudden realization that it might be well to delay that vote and think about it for a while. The realization had produced one of those moments that come so often in the Congress in Washington, when opposing forces reach the exact point of meeting head on and then suddenly understand that a crushing victory by either might have very serious consequences. It was a cause for reappraisal, reconsideration, and regrouping. Orrin had recognized it as such and changed tactics accordingly.
Although it was somewhat irregular under the easily flexed rules of the Assembly, it was with a general feeling of relief that its members heard the delegate from Ghana once more seek recognition, and the President grant it, while Orrin stepped temporarily aside.
“Mr. President,” Ghana said, “I am wondering if the distinguished delegate of the United States would be willing to change his motion to a motion to suspend the meeting on this item to a day certain. The distinguished delegate,” he said with the first note of humor in an angry day, “is in a more favored position than most delegations: he can give himself his own instructions. Others may wish to consult with their home governments. Would he consider such a modification?”
“Mr. President,” Orrin said, stepping back to the rostrum, “what does the distinguished delegate of Ghana have in mind?”
“I would leave that to the wisdom of the distinguished Secretary and the judgment of this Assembly,” Ghana said smoothly, and stepped down.
Again there was a silence as Orrin stood at the rostrum, obviously thinking it out, though perhaps not quite at such length as he made them believe. Finally he spoke with a thoughtful slowness.
“Well, Mr. President, this is all rather irregular, and I should, all things considered, prefer a vote at once on my motion to adjourn. However, in view of the suggestion of the distinguished delegate of Ghana, which is typical of his thoughtful approach to this matter—(“Oh, brother,” Lafe murmured to Hal Fry)—I might be willing to modify my suggestion to suspend to next Monday, a week from today.”
There was an immediate commotion from the general direction of the U.S.S.R., and—shouting “Point of order! Point of order!”—Vasily Tashikov could be seen hurrying down the aisle to the platform. The delegate from Ghana went back to his seat, the Secretary of State turned away to a seat at the side without speaking to the Soviet Ambassador, earphones went on, dials were spun to the Russian channel. The President said patiently, “The distinguished delegate of the Soviet Union is recognized for a point of order.”
“The point of order, Mr. President,” Tashikov said angrily, “is that we are here proposing to let the guilty man decide the terms of his own sentencing. We are proposing to let the criminal decide when he shall be hanged. This is not the purpose of the United Nations, Mr. President—”
“Now, Mr. President!” the Secretary of State cried with equal anger, steaming back up the steps in a show of rage that made the Soviet Ambassador step hastily back from the rostrum, “the distinguished Soviet delegate is himself out of order to use such terms about a fellow member of the United Nations. How dare he call the United States a criminal, Mr. President, he whose nation has on its hands the blood of many millions of innocent people, and in whose graveyard rest the carcasses of so many once-free states?”
“Point of order, Mr. President!” Tashikov shouted, while his colleagues in the Communist bloc dutifully pounded their desks and pandemonium again began to sweep across the chamber. Into it the President furiously banged his gavel and, with some instinct of perception that enabled him to catch the slightest of movements in areas from which help might come, cried out with great relief, “The delegate of France seeks recognition. The distinguished delegate of France is recognized!”
“Mr. President,” Raoul Barre said calmly as both the delegate of the U.S.A. and the delegate of the U.S.S.R. resumed their seats, stalking stiffly down separate aisles to rejoin their delegations, “I shall not inflame this discussion further but will only say that I have been in consultation with other members of the French Community and other nations, and it seems to us that a reasonable compromise in this matter would be to amend the last motion of the distinguished delegate of the United States to read suspension until Thursday. It is now Monday, and that will allow for the balance of today, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday until 10 a.m. for members to consult their governments and each other. Surely that should be sufficient to satisfy all parties concerned. I therefore make that formal motion, Mr. President, as a substitute for the last motion of the delegate of the United States.”
“All those in favor of the motion of the delegate of France please signify by raising their hands,” said the President with a relieved promptness that, as Hal murmured to Lafe, would have been at home on Capitol Hill. “All those opposed. Apparently a large majority is in favor of the motion as modified by the distinguished delegate of France, and this plenary session on this item is now suspended until 10 a.m. on Thursday.”
Back in the Delegates’ Lounge after the Assembly Hall had emptied, the world now really abuzz with sensation, the United States for the first time really on the defensive in the United Nations and on her most vulnerable point at that, the Secretary of State awaited with a number of emotions the arrival of the French Ambassador, with whom he had arranged a hasty date for lunch. Presently from the swirling crowd the dapper figure of Raoul Barre appeared and came forward. Orrin shook hands with some warmth.
“I want to thank you. I think that was exactly what had to be done, at that point.”
Raoul nodded.
“Yes, it seemed to me so. As soon as Ghana began to give ground, it was obvious they all wanted a compromise. I don’t know, though, how effectively they can be held off later on.”
“No,” the Secretary said, somewhat gloomily. “Nor do I. But we must do our best. Come along and tell me about the French Community. I gather we may be able to hold them.”
The French Ambassador shook his head soberly.
“I do not know at this point. It will take some shrewd diplomacy and much hard work, but possibly you can beat it.”
“Possibly!” Orrin Knox said. “We’ve got to beat it.”
But whether they coul
d or not he did not at the moment know, a doubt increased by the number of bland and noncommittal greetings he received as they proceeded to the elevator and up to the Delegates’ Dining Room on the fourth floor. Only one greeting was quite unequivocal. As they stepped off the elevator and stopped by the reservations desk to get their table number, a small figure at the Secretary’s elbow stepped back a pace and held out his hand. Orrin turned to find himself greeting the Portuguese Ambassador.
“Congratulations, Mr. Secretary,” he said with an ironic politeness. “Now you know how it feels.”
And to that, the French Ambassador noted with a small inward smile as he took the Secretary’s arm and pulled him away, Orrin for once had no rejoinder.
So the word went out across the seas and to all the nations that the United States of America had this day been publicly attacked and humiliated before the world and might very well find herself, in three days’ time, formally condemned for social practices which to a majority of the world’s inhabitants had long seemed deserving of condemnation. That she had been making earnest attempts for many years to right the wrongs, that Administration after Administration in Washington had done its best to speed the process, that decent folk of both races in South and North alike were working together patiently in a fearfully difficult situation, made no difference now. It was not an age in which men were disposed to stop and think, or be objective or fair, even had they the knowledge and the decency to do so. It was an age to take advantage of every weakness, and there were many now who were ready to move in for the kill, if kill there were to be.
In steadily mounting crescendo the babble of opinion crashed across the world as afternoon wore into night. Lights burned late in many delegations. International cables and telephone lines were jammed. DEFY’s picketers paraded two hundred strong outside the UN. A constant stream of delegates ascended to the thirty-eighth floor to see the Secretary-General. In Washington men pondered how best to defend their country, or take advantage of her, and in New York the Times advertising department got a call to delay the “FAIR PLAY FOR GOROTOLAND” ad, because its sponsors wished to revise it in view of late events. All across the broad reaches of America the citizenry reacted with annoyance or anger or bitterness or shame, according to individual attitude and inclination.